Snow Storms and Vodka (A Christmas Story)
by SordidDetailsFollowing
Summary: When New York City gets shut down by a massive snow storm a week before Christmas, Peter makes a very important discovery. The vodka helps.
1. The One With All the Vodka

The date was December eighteenth and it was approximately twelve degrees Fahrenheit in New York City. As per usual for eleven pm on a Friday night, Peter Parker was not out having a fun TGIF with his (largely absent) friends. No. He was perched on top of a fifteen-story apartment building in Harlem freezing his motherfucking balls off in a thin spider-themed suit like a fucking dork.

Usually this wasn't a problem. Usually, Spider-Man was kept busy swinging around the city and fighting bad guys, both of which are wonderful ways to keep the muscles warm and the blood flowing. But tonight, on a Friday evening just after all the public schools had shut down for the holiday break, the city was dead.

Dead.

Peter might have been concerned by the downright eerie silence that coated his usually-bustling city like a thick layer of cotton, if not for the fact that the entire city literally _was_ coated in thirteen inches (and climbing) of fluffy white cotton. Or, well, snow. It was a snow storm, if you didn't catch that. And the city had implemented a curfew and the subway shut down an hour ago and the streets were practically impassable and it was well below freezing and so no one was outside.

No one except Peter Parker, idiot extraordinaire, who was hanging around on a _rooftop_ where the wind chill reached negative degrees.

He watched large, cloyingly fluffy snowflakes fall in thick, twirling patterns past where he crouched on the northern ledge of the building with his arms wrapped tightly and uselessly around his midriff. It might have been a beautiful sight, especially from so high up, but Peter was probably in real danger of losing some toes if he stayed here staring at it for much longer. With a long-suffering sigh, made ineffective by his chattering teeth, Peter rose stiffly to his feet and hoped with all his heart that his fingers weren't too numb to swing home on.

He was just about to uncurl his arms and take his chances with the web shooters when a subtle tingle at the back of his neck caused him to glance over his shoulder. He found himself grinning at the sight of a familiar red and black-clad mercenary striding across the rooftop through the snow. He was wearing a fur trapper hat over his mask and carrying a dark lump of something under one arm. Peter hadn't heard him approaching, but that was normal of Deadpool even when there wasn't over a foot of snow to muffle his footsteps.

"Hey, Pool Boy." He greeted Wade once he was within speaking distance, turning to face him fully and crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he hoped said 'I'm totally cool and casual' rather than 'I'm freezing my ass off and trying to keep myself from shivering into pieces.'

Wade raised his free hand in greeting and did a little pirouette in the snow before he came to a stop in front of Peter. "Spidey! Oh my _shit_ you should see the fucking ice on these fire escapes! I literally almost slipped off that cheap-ass iron ladder and racked myself on the dumpster underneath like _ten million_ times on my way up here. Hey, do you think I could sue the city if I died? Nah, you're right. That wouldn't work. I'd probably have to have a social security number or a birth certificate proving my cat was born in America if I want to open a can of legal whoop ass on anyone. Plus those payouts are always shit. Like I could make more dough just popping a cap off in some drug lord's forehead, and that would take me like maybe a thousandth of the time it would take to sue the fucking city. Or less. I dunno. Math? Ugh."

Peter was used to Wade's rambling, and he waited it out with an amused half-smile. As he talked, Wade removed the bundle from under his arm and unwrapped it carefully, pulling what looked like a giant bottle of liquor from inside and holding it in one hand while he shook out a bunch of fabric and fur with the other. It was a coat. A heavy, fur coat with a thick woolen collar. He held the coat out to Peter.

"Oh…" Peter reached out reflexively and took it, blinking at the texture of the incredibly smooth brown fur clutched in his gloved fingers. "Why did you bring me a coat?" Wade had brought him food before. Or maybe the occasional bottle of water or plastic bag full of medical supplies. But never a coat.

Wade shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you might be cold." A soft, warm feeling bloomed in Peter's chest, and his lips curled up into a smile beneath his mask. "You're always standin' around outside in nothing but some skin-tight scraps of spandex like a brainless hooker no matter what the weather is." Wade continued, and Peter's smile disappeared. "So go on, put it on!" He gestured carelessly towards the coat with the bottle. "You're making my balls hurt just lookin' at you."

Peter huffed out an exasperated sigh, but he swung the coat over his shoulders and slid his arms into the sleeves. It was warm. Very warm. And so soft. Peter couldn't help but shiver slightly as he pulled the fur tighter around himself and felt his muscles unclench as the cold dissipated. He glanced up at Wade's hat. Then the coat, which smelled faintly of cigar smoke. Then the full botte of Stolichnaya vodka Wade held by the neck in one hand. "What did you do, rob some old Russian expat?"

"Yep." Wade twisted the cap off with a small crack as the seal broke and lifted the edge of his mask just long enough to take a swig before pulling it back down again. "KGB hired me to take him out. He had some nice stuff on 'im so I thought, 'why let this shit go to waste? He sure aint gonna be using it anymore.' White and Yellow agreed, of course, so it seemed like a good idea all around."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide with apprehension.

Wade tipped his head slightly to one side, staring back. Slowly, he said, "I'm kidding."

"Oh." Peter relaxed with a relieved laugh, only a slight edge of nervousness to the sound. "Right."

Wade's eyes seemed to narrow through the mask (the mechanics of which Peter will forever be confused about) and he leaned forward slightly. "Can't you tell when I'm joking around, little spider?"

"Only sometimes." Peter muttered under his breath, turning to step back to the edge of the roof and look out at the white city streets below. He felt more than heard Wade moving to stand beside him, aware as always of the mercenary's body whenever he was in Peter's vicinity. "Why are you even drinking that?" He asked, hoping to jump ship onto another topic, a distraction tactic that almost always worked with Wade. "Isn't it, like, impossible for you to get drunk?"

Wade nodded as he took another drink from the bottle. "Mhm. Yep. Totally sucks ass, you know. But I like the way it burns a little going down; reminds me I'm alive for now. And plus, bonus round, the taste totally reminds me of all those great times I had getting trashed when I was a pretty young thing. Or, well, would if I could remember that shit." Peter hummed lightly in acknowledgement. "Oh, and it's good for keeping warm. That's why all those poor Soviet chaps up in Antarctica drink it like it's water and they're fish."

"Russian." Peter corrected thoughtlessly. "And they're in Siberia, not the south pole."

Wade waved the bottle at him in the universal sign for 'whatever, I don't give a fuck.' Peter used his Spidey reflexes to reach out and snatch the bottle away without spilling a drop, lifted his mask over his mouth, and took a long drink. It _did_ burn going down, and Peter was glad the mask was still covering his eyes so Wade wouldn't see how they watered at the sensation.

When he lowered the bottle, Wade was staring at him, uncovered mouth gaping in surprise. "Whoa there, Spidey. That's some hard stuff. You even old enough to drink?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "You know I'm twenty-one, Wade." So, yes. Technically. He took another drink, eyes squeezing shut at the taste, and it really did start to feel like his insides were warming up.

"Right, well, still. Take it easy okay? Don't want you gettin' too juiced up to swing home." He tried to reach for the bottle, but Peter held it out of reach.

"I have a really fast metabolism." He reminded Wade. "It's pretty much impossible for me to get drunk. Just like you." He hadn't exactly put that theory to the test before, because he'd only been twenty-one for a couple of months and the extent of his drinking experience was having a beer or two or three with Aunt May or some of his friends from school. But those hadn't affected him _at all_ , and he had a history of very high tolerance for medications and poisons. He took another drink.

Wade didn't look convinced, but he let Peter keep the bottle for now. "Alright, well… Just be careful. If you die then everyone is going to assume _I_ killed you."

Peter snorted. "I'm not gonna _die_ , Wade. Jesus. Besides, aren't you supposed to be encouraging my bad behavior?" He waved the bottle around playfully before bringing it to his lips again.

"Hey." Wade pointed a very serious finger at him. "Alcohol poisoning is _not_ a joke, son."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at that, and Wade relaxed a little, grinning under the edge of his still-raised mask. "Yeah, yeah. I'll keep that in mind, Dad."

"Oh, Baby Boy." Wade chuckled, stepping a little closer. "You better, or Daddy will have to teach you a lesson."

"Aaaand, you took it too far." Peter put his free hand out to keep Wade at arm's length, still smiling easily. "Although I'll admit, that one was kind of my fault."

Wade stuck out his tongue like a petulant child. "Uh, duh! Way to get a guy's hopes up. I thought you might finally be warming up to that roleplay idea."

Peter just chuckled. He was saved from having to shoot Wade down _again_ by the sound of shouts in the quiet street below. He stepped forward and scanned the area, quickly spotting a group of teenagers stumbling through the snow. Two of them were ahead, clearly running away from the other three. Peter held the vodka out for Wade to take off his hands, preparing to swing down and interfere. But before he could shoot a web, the two in front turned around and started hurling snowballs at the others.

All of them dissolved into fits of shrieks and laughter, throwing handfuls of snow at each other. A grin spread slowly over Peter's face, relief and unexpected joy mingling in his chest and making him feel warmer than he had in days. "Hey." He turned to look at Wade. "D'you like snowball fights?"

Wade's mouth fell open in an exaggerated gasp. "Do I _ever_!? Spidey, my love, are you inviting me to roll around in the snow with you?"

Peter grinned. "Yes, Pooly, I believe I am." He held one arm out, and Wade stepped easily into his side so Peter could grab him around the waist. He was warm through the leather of his suit, as always, and Peter clutched him a little closer than was strictly necessary. You know, for the warmth. They both rolled their masks down, then he shot a web at the opposite building and swung them down into the street.

The snow came up almost to Peter's knees now, and it was a little difficult to let go of Wade and start walking towards the kids still battling it out down the road. "Hey!" He called out, raising one hand in a wave. "Could we join you?"

The group paused long enough to glance back at both of them. "Are you really Spider-Man?" One boy asked, awe in his voice.

"The one and only!" Peter grinned. Just for fun, he shot a web into the air and let it land carelessly several yards away. He was glad they could still recognize him under this ridiculous coat.

"Wow." Another one peered curiously at Wade. "And who're you?"

"Ouch." Wade held one hand over his chest in mock pain. "You wound me. C'mon peeps, you never heard of Deadpool? I've only been your friendly neighborhood merc and lovable antihero since 1991." They all looked at him blankly. Wade made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "Ah, fuck me! I've been working on my rep since before Britney was shaking her nonexistent ass to auto-tuned pop and you recognize _Spider-Boy_ before me? He's only been a hero for like five years! Hell, he wasn't even _born_ when I started taking names and… Oh, fuck. That's depressing."

Peter shoved Wade playfully in the shoulder. "Just ignore him." He told their confused audience. "Okay, so should we each join a team?"

He and Wade proceeded to argue heatedly about who was a better snowball-fighter and should join the smaller team. Wade insisted his sniper-accurate aim was worth at least three Spideys, but Peter insisted that his ability to literally _never_ get hit was much more valuable.

In the end, Wade joined the smaller team just because Peter noticed that one of the kids in the group of three looked a little scared of him. They gave themselves three minutes to strategize, then they were off.

Peter's team started off strong when Peter climbed a wall and pelted the enemy from above. But then Wade executed a spectacular three-way pincer move with his team, trapping the rest of Peter's teammates under heavy fire. Peter swung in to try and help them, but Wade didn't hesitate to tackle him to the ground, pinning him under two hundred pounds of muscle and weapons.

The snow broke his fall, so it didn't hurt much. Peter laughed and squirmed around, trying to worm his way out from under Wade's body without getting too much snow in his face. Wade just grunted and let him up rather quickly, muttering something about guns and 'happy to see you' under his breath.

They went on like that for a while, back and forth with neither team gaining the upper hand for very long. Eventually, Peter hit Wade right in the face one too many times, and the mercenary took off after the spider, chasing him down another street. Peter ran haltingly through the snow and laughed breathlessly, flinging snowballs over his shoulder as often as Wade flung insults at him. Thick white flurries streamed through the light of the streetlamps and it was almost _magical_ until Peter tripped on a curb and fell flat on his face into a pile of dark and cold.

Instead of helping him up, of course, Wade stopped beside him and proceeded to point and laugh. Peter pretended to pout, but let himself grin instead when he remembered that he still had his mask on. He reached up as if asking for Wade's assistance in standing, and grabbed the hand that was offered to him in return. With a hard tug, he pulled Wade down on top of him.

"Oof. Low blow Spidey." Wade chuckled, taking a handful of snow and rubbing it over the front of Peter's mask, his body a heavy weight draped over Peter's middle.

Peter whined in complaint and pushed Wade off him, sitting up to tear his mask off so he could shake the snow out of it. He glanced up and smiled at Wade, who had gone quiet and was just sort of staring at him. "What? Is my hair a mess?" Of course it was. It always was.

Wade shook his head. "Naw. Just lookin' at your pretty face."

Peter blushed a little, but his smile stayed in place and he hoped it wouldn't be noticeable under the light flush of exertion still coloring his cheeks from the snowball fight. "You've seen it plenty before." He pointed out. He'd known Wade for almost five years now, and while it had taken him far too long to actually trust the loud-mouthed mercenary, it had been over a year since he finally unmasked and told Wade who he was. He was glad he had, because he'd become quite good friends with the merc. Now he could take his mask off when they played videogames at Wade's, and have Wade over to his place too. (Or, well, have Wade follow him home sometimes and then just sort of stay.)

He was feeling kind of giggly and happy, so he shuffled clumsily through the snow without getting up until he could lean his cheek against Wade's shoulder. "Too bad we left that bottle back on the rooftop." He commented absently.

Wade shifted a bit, and then he was holding the vodka out in front of Peter. It was still three-fourths full. Peter gasped, grabbing for it happily. "Where the hell were you hiding that?" He twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips, taking another sip. It still burned.

"Magic pouch." Wade answered, as if that made complete sense. "Or," He whispered, turning his head to the side as if talking to someone else. "A very convenient consistency loophole made up by lazy authors."

Peter ignored his nonsensical aside, as he usually did, and pulled the coat more tightly around himself with the hand not holding the liquor. He felt a lot warmer now, and sitting here nestled in the snow with Wade was the most content he'd felt in a long time. It was strange to see his city completely shut down like this, but Peter thought it was actually kind of beautiful.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, passing the bottle back and forth and taking sharp, bitter warmth from the alcohol. Most people would be surprised to see Deadpool go twenty seconds without saying something, let alone more than a minute, but Peter wasn't. The more time he spent with Wade, actually hanging out as friends, the more he had the privilege of experiencing those rare, but special moments when the mercenary was calm and quiet for a while. It seemed to happen most when he was content, and it only ever happened when he and Peter were alone.

"You hungry?" Wade finally asked, brushing a bit of snow off Peter's knee.

"Not really." He answered, then glanced up at Wade's mask. "But what would you have done if I'd said yes? Every restaurant and corner shop in the city is closed down. And we both know there's no edible food in either of our apartments."

Wade just shrugged. "Broken in somewhere, I guess. It's real easy to steal food, y'know."

Peter faux-gasped, even though he wasn't really surprised. "You would _shoplift_ in front of Spider-Man? I'd have to web you up and leave you for the police to find. And they probably wouldn't get around to picking you up until tomorrow; that would be a long night out in the cold, Pooly."

Wade snorted. "Like your webs could hold me…" Peter opened his mouth to argue that yes, they could, but Wade hurried right along. "Besides, it's okay to steal if you're hungry."

"Not if you can afford to pay for it." Peter retorted.

What proceeded was a long and mostly ridiculous debate about ethics that Peter would have won if he were talking to any _sane_ person ever. But after twenty minutes of arguing, Wade had managed to convince Peter that it was okay to steal food regardless of whether or not you can afford to pay for it, but only if you steal it between the hours of seven pm and five am when Mars is in retrograde. By the end of that, there was only a finger's worth of vodka left in the bottom of the bottle.

"Whoa." Peter giggled, holding it out for Wade to see. "Where'd all that go?"

Wade looked down at him in what might have been bemusement, but Peter couldn't be sure because he had his Deadpool mask on. "In your little spider tummy, most of it. You feel okay?"

"'Course." Peter waved him off with the bottle before downing the last of it. "'M totally fine!" He felt fine. A little lighter and happier than normal, but that's just because he'd had such a fun night. Because of Wade. Struck by a sudden _brilliant_ idea, Peter gasped. "Oh my god. Do you wanna come over to my place and make hot cocoa?"

Wade chuckled. "Yeah, sure. Are we gonna braid each other's hair and have a pillow fight, too? Yeah, I know. Always wanted to have a pillow fight."

"I dunno about the pillows." Peter reasoned, since he only had one. "But we could watch a movie!"

Wade hummed in consideration. "Yeah, alright. But only if the cocoa has marshmallows."

" _Duh_." Peter grinned, handing the empty bottle back to Wade. "For your magic pouch." He mumbled as he climbed to his feet. He stumbled a bit upon standing upright, feeling like he got a sudden head rush and lost his balance, which hadn't happened in forever. Peter laughed, because it was _funny_ that he was getting head rushes like he did before he got bitten by a genetically mutated spider.

"You okay there, Spidey?" Wade was suddenly standing beside him, holding one hand out to steady him in case he stumbled again, and Peter stopped laughing.

"Wow. You got up fast."

"Uh… Yeah." Wade seemed confused. "I guess… If, like, normal speed is fast now."

"Oh." Peter blinked at him, then smiled. "Guess so." He fumbled to pull his mask back on, turned around and started walking clumsily through the snow, looking for a tall enough building to climb and start swinging them both home, but he was stopped by a hand curling around his bicep.

"Hey, Spidey?"

"Hm?" Peter turned to look at Wade.

"Your apartment is this way."

"Oh." Peter laughed. "Right."

They walked for a minute until Peter found a suitable building. He went to start climbing up the wall, but Wade stopped him by grabbing his arm again. "Y'know… Maybe we should just walk there." He suggested.

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, alright." He figured Wade was enjoying the snow and wanted to stay on the ground a while longer. He didn't mind. By this time tomorrow, the roads would be plowed and salted to death and this pristine winter wonderland would be gone forever.

By the time they reached Peter's building, it was getting kind of hard to walk in a straight line, and the foot and a half of snow they were trudging through wasn't helping. Peter stumbled into the brick wall under his fifth-floor window and raised his hands to start climbing, but Wade steered him away. "Let's use the fire escape, buddy."

Peter hummed in agreement and let Wade push him towards the iron stairs crisscrossing the side of the building. He started climbing, holding onto the railings and swaying a little on the platforms. They had climbed two flights before Peter realized one of Wade's hands was on his waist, keeping him steady. He giggled. "Always findin' excuses!" He paused on the stairs to turn and wave an accusing finger at Wade. "Just can't keep your hands off my fine spider ass!"

Wade sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who's been asked to take care of an unruly child and gently pushed Peter to continue traveling upward. "That's my line, honeypots. And believe me, as much as I enjoy puttin' my hands all over that tight little body of yours, I'm seriously just trying to make sure you don't fall over the railing and split your pretty head open on the concrete. Believe me, red snow aint as cool as it sounds."

Peter huffed in disagreement but couldn't think of a comeback, so he just concentrated on climbing the rest of the way to his floor without tripping on the snow-covered stairs. They finally reached his window, which hovered just beside the platform of the fire escape. Wade reached past him to slide it open and Peter leaned over the railing, trying to figure out the best way to climb over. He raised one leg clumsily, planting a foot on the railing (because yes, he was that flexible) and reaching for the open window.

"Jesus Saint Madonna in heaven, I should _not_ have let you drink so much." Wade planted his hands on Peter's hips and helped him up onto the railing. "Thought you said you burned it off too fast to get drunk, you little liar. I'm not gonna have to take you to get your stomach pumped, am I?"

"What?" Peter curled his fingers over the window ledge, sticking to it instinctually. "'M not drunk…" He hooked one foot over the windowsill and slid himself forward until he was straddling the wooden ledge, then glanced triumphantly over his shoulder. "See! 'M fine. Totally, like, totally fine." His gaze flickered down to the five-story drop below him, and his depth perception wavered for a moment. It looked like the ground was getting closer, and he jerked back in alarm, sending himself tumbling through the window and sprawling in a mess across his unmade bed.

He laughed.

Wade appeared in the window, his large frame blocking out the light from the streetlamp as he crouched gracefully on the ledge. He was grumbling something about drunk spiders and bashed in heads, but Peter ignored him. He reached out to latch onto one leather-clad wrist and accidentally used some of his super strength to pull Wade down on top of him. The mercenary grunted in protest, but Peter just wriggled around beneath him, getting comfortable with a soft hum. "Mm, warm." He commented, wedging himself under Wade's hips and sliding his arms around Wade's waist. "You're always warm."

Wade squeaked in alarm and pushed himself up, breaking Peter's hold and separating his warm body from Peter's. "Hot cocoa!" He shouted, almost desperately. "You wanted hot cocoa. I wanted. We want, uh, let's go make it!" He jumped off the bed, leaving Peter to whine in protest. "Come on, you think I came all the way over here just to take a nap in your bed? I got a bed of my very own, y'know." He turned his head to the side to hiss, "Yeah, not with a tasty little spider in it, but we'll survive." He turned back to peter and clapped his hands together, gesturing for him to get up. "Hop to it, Spidey. I was promised some tasty liquid chocolate."

Peter dragged himself off the bed with a groan, stumbling a little and bracing one hand against the wall as he stood. "Yeah, I'll just… Get changed…" He stripped his mask off and tossed it to the side, glancing around a little forlornly as he looked for a spare pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Right, right. I'll uh… Leave you to it." Wade slipped out of the bedroom, and Peter could hear him padding into the small living room/kitchenette that made up the majority of Peter's apartment. "Hey, I thought your landlord didn't let you have real Christmas trees in here? Fire hazard or some shit like that." He called from the other room.

Peter slid the fur coat off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. "Yeah, he doesn't!" He lifted the sheets off his bed to look for some clothes, but didn't find anything. "Nope, not in there…" He walked to his chest of drawers, room tilting slightly as he moved through it, bringing a wide smile to his face. "I, uh, brought it in through the window." He called, opening a drawer and rifling clumsily through a collection of clean underwear. "Pine needles _all_ over the bedroom floor. Not my best idea." He finally found an old Calvin and Hobbes t-shirt buried at the bottom of the drawer and a plucked a pair of sweatpants from the floor. He headed out into the living room, where Wade was standing beside the medium-sized Christmas tree holding his mask in one hand.

"Why does it always have to be Christmas trees?" He was asking, gesturing haphazardly at the white string lights Peter had wrapped around the pine branches. "Why not like, a giant menorah or a holiday armadillo?"

"Uh, 'cause I celebrate Christmas?" Peter suggested obliviously, stripping off the top of his Spider-Man suit. It got caught on his head a little, but it came off with a hard yank and he let it land where it fell. He left his web shooters on, since they detached easily and were usually a comforting weight around his wrists.

"Yeah, but like, this should be an inclusive story, y'know? It's a fucking _holiday_ one-shot. Not Christmas. We don't need more white, cis Christianity in this world. That's what causes all the problems in the first place, like – Uh…" He glanced at Peter, who was leaning against the arm of the couch and struggling to pull his Spider-Man pants off one foot. "We, um… Like…" He went back to having a staring contest with the tree and his rambling kicked up a notch. "We should get some menorahs in here. Did I say that already? And Buddhas. And like, some of those super cool Hindu gods and shit. Some stars of David and a copy of the Quran. Oh, and duh, the atheist symbol! Do atheists have a symbol? Oh yeah, it's that A thing. No wait, that's anarchy. We could have that too. Is it the fish with legs? Is that just evolution? Well evolution is good. We support that. And science. Whatever. Let's just get it all up in here. Inclusivity for the win! Hey, Peter?" He had stopped suddenly, his attention focused on the few wrapped presents piled underneath the tree. "You got another friend named Wade?"

"Huh?" Peter had managed to get his sweatpants and t-shirt on, but he was still leaning heavily against the arm of the couch. "Oh, no." He turned casually and tried to walk as normally as possible towards the kitchen counter. "That's for you."

A loud, ragged gasp echoed through the apartment. By the time Peter turned back around, his response time a little delayed, Wade was holding the square-shaped present up to his face, blue eyes wide with awe. "Holy _shit_." He breathed. "Oh my good gods. Can I open it? Oh please, can I?" He was already turning it over to reach for the seam in the wrapping paper.

Without thinking, Peter shot a web at the present, jerking it out of Wade's grasp. He meant to yank it to himself and catch it, but his aim was off and the gift ended up skidding across the kitchen floor. "Not yet!" He scolded, pointing an accusing finger at Wade. "You _gotta_ wait for Christmas Eve, at least! Those're the _rules_."

Wade whined pitifully, rushing forward to pick the present up off the floor with exaggerated care. "Oh, poor baby…" He cooed at the thing, turning to slowly walk back to the tree and place it carefully back in its spot with the other gifts. "Don't you worry, my love. Daddypool will be back in just a few days to take care of you, okay?"

Peter rolled his eyes, grinning to himself, and turned to start searching the cupboards for his box of instant hot cocoa. He found it on the third try, and pulled out a couple of the little paper pouches. He glanced around, at a loss for a moment before remembering that he needed mugs. He got two out from another cupboard and set them on the counter. He picked up one of the packets of hot cocoa and tried to rip it open over one of the cups. He must have pulled a little too hard, because the packet ripped down the middle and brown, chocolate-scented dust spilled all over the countertop. Peter groaned in frustration and tried to brush the dust away, but his hand caught on one of the mugs and knocked it to the ground, where is shattered with a loud crash. "Oh, no!"

Wade was at his side in an instant, pulling Peter away before he could lean down and try to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. "No, no, Petey-Pie. Let's not handle the glass-ware when we're drunk, okay? Or, well, ceramic-ware. Whatevs. Here, you stand over there and I'll get that cleaned up, okay?" Peter watched with wide-eyes as Wade retrieved a broom and dustpan from beside the fridge and swept all of the broken pieces up to dump them in the trashcan. "There." He returned the broom and dustpan and busied himself at the counter, using a paper towel to wipe up the mess Peter had made. "No more dangerous itty slicing pieces for you to cut your feet and fingers on, little spider."

"Thanks." Peter laughed a little, stepping into Wade's side and wrapping his arms around the mercenary's shoulders so he could nuzzle his face into Wade's collar. "Like it when you call me little spider…" He mumbled into the warm fabric of the Deadpool suit.

"Oh, um…" Wade went still, and it felt like he might have shivered a little. "Good."

Peter took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, relaxing against Wade's body. "Guess I am a little drunk, hm?" He slurred with a chuckle, and he felt Wade nod.

"Yep. Clearly. Drunk as a skunk, you are. Hey, what about that hot cocoa?" Wade busied himself getting out another packet and mug, filling both cups with water in the sink and putting them in the microwave. Peter tried to hold onto him, but all the movement made it difficult and he soon gave up, happy to lean against the counter instead.

Once Wade was forced to go still again, tapping his fingers on the counter while he watched the timer count down on the microwave display, Peter sauntered clumsily to his side once more. "Waaade…" He whined gently, trailing his fingers down one of Wade's biceps. "How come you're so _good_ at stuff?"

Wade looked at him blankly. "Huh?"

Peter gestured widely to the kitchen counter, where the unopened packets of cocoa still lay. "All this." He said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Um… Making instant hot cocoa?"

"Yeah! It's like… You just _know how_."

Wade laughed. "Peter, honey, it's literally just making hot water and then mixing in a questionable powder substance. Not exactly rocket science."

"I've done some rocket science." Peter looked at him with wide-eyed seriousness. "It's not as hard as this."

Wade shook his head in amusement, turning at the ding of the microwave to pull out their steaming mugs of water and set them back down on the counter. "Here." He pulled out two spoons and handed one to Peter. "Try not to break that one, yeah?" Peter nodded seriously and Wade set about dumping the chocolate powder into their mugs. It was dotted with little white dehydrated marshmallows. "Ugh. Not the best, but it'll do. Next time, Spidey, I'm definitely buying you some jet-puffed." He mixed both of their drinks, because he didn't trust Peter not to dump scalding water all over himself right now. "I'll carry them to the coffee table and we'll sit on the couch, 'kay?"

"Mhm." Peter followed him across the room like a puppy, stopping at his side when he set the drinks down and sat himself at one end of the maroon couch. Instead of sitting down like a normal human being, Peter let himself fall heavily across the couch and land with his head against Wade's thigh. He giggled and made no move to get up or drink any of his hot cocoa. "This is the best." He exclaimed. "You're the best." He reached up to trail one hand over Wade's arm again. "Your arms are the best."

Wade made a strangled sound, hooking his hands under Peter's elbows and pulling him up into a sitting position. "That's enough of that, Mr. Intoxication. Here." He practically shoved a mug into Peter's hand, careful not to let it spill. "Drink this."

Peter did. He burned his tongue a little, but it tasted so good that he didn't care. "Wow." He grinned at Wade. "This is, like, amazing. Thanks for making it."

Wade chuckled, taking a sip of his own drink. "Thank Nestle Tollhouse, Peter. Not me."

Peter sighed contentedly and leaned back against the couch cushions. "Thanks, Nestle Tollhouse."

They sipped on their hot cocoa for a minute, but Peter quickly got bored and set his mug back on the coffee table. (It took him a couple tries not to set it too close to the edge where it would fall over.) "Let's watch a movie!" He smiled brightly at Wade. "I wanna watch the Christmas Charlie Brown. It's Christmas Charlie… Brown… No, A Charlie Brown Christmas!"

Wade chuckled. "Sure thing, Baby Boy. They got that on Netflix?"

"I dunno." He reached across Wade for the remote that sat on the other table, but it was a little too far away. Without giving it any thought, Peter shuffled over, slinging one leg over Wade and leaning until he could reach. When he sat up with the remote in hand, Peter was seated snugly in Wade's lap, straddling his thighs.

Wade seemed to be clenching his jaw, his lips pressed hard together, and when Peter met his beautiful eyes, he saw something guarded in their blue depths, but also… Something heated.

Peter smiled, suddenly breathless, and snaked his arms around Wade's neck to lean in close. "Hey." He breathed, eyelids falling half-closed with a heaviness that had nothing to do with being tired.

He could hear Wade swallow hard, two big, warm hands coming to land lightly and hesitantly on his thighs. "Peter…" He warned, but made no move to push the younger man off him.

"Mm." Peter leaned forward, his lips brushing over a scarred jaw and trailing down one side of Wade's neck, parting for teeth to scrape lightly across the edge of Wade's suit.

Wade shivered.

Peter shifted even closer, warm tingles running over his skin as his stomach and chest pushed flush against Wade's, their hips slotted snugly together. He pressed a firm, openmouthed kiss to Wade's neck and mumbled against his textured skin, "Want you…"

Wade huffed out a heavy breath, his hands tightening on Peter's thighs for just a moment. Then he was letting his head fall against the back of the couch, hands slipping away until they weren't touching Peter at all, and he moaned with pent-up longing and frustration. "Shit, Peter… God, if only you were sober right now. Jesus _fuck_."

Peter hummed a question into his skin and tightened his hold on Wade's neck, trying to get them closer still, eager and aching for _something_ … But Wade reached up to wrap his fingers around Peter's wrists and gently disentangle his arms, bringing them down to Peter's sides. "God, Peter. Fuck, you have no idea." He whispered, leaning in for just a second to press his forehead against Peter's. "If you weren't drunk… Fucking hell."

"Wade…" Peter tried to complain, because what did being drunk have anything to do with it? Wade was big and warm and Peter _wanted_ him. But Wade shushed him and gathered Peter up in his arms, holding him close as he laid him down across the couch, stretching out beside him, and this was okay. This was nice. Because he was nestled in Wade's arms and he could press his face into Wade's chest and everything was warm and perfect.

"Peter." Wade murmured into his hair, voice thick as he ran one hand down Peter's spine. "If only this was real…"

He wanted to tell Wade that it _was_ real. How could it not be real? But he was so warm and suddenly it was really hard to keep his eyes open. He could just lay here for a minute and tell Wade later, couldn't he? Yeah. That was a good idea.

"If only you really meant it." Wade breathed. "God, I'd be so sweet on you, Baby Boy. I'd treat you so good." He pressed a light, barely-there kiss to the top of Peter's head, and Peter smiled.

It was a nice thought, one that filled Peter with warmth and happiness like nothing he'd ever felt before. He could see it behind his closed eyelids; Wade holding him close while they stood on top of their favorite rooftop, kissing him slowly with their masks rolled up to their noses. Wade coming home with him at night, sleeping in Peter's bed with their arms wrapped around each other. Just like this.

For a moment, Peter knew what it would feel like to be Wade's. With a soft, contented sigh, he slipped into a gentle sleep.


	2. The One With All the Cookies

Peter woke up disoriented, squinting in discomfort at the sunlight streaming into his eyes. He didn't usually wake up to sunlight… Oh, he was on the couch. With a massive yawn, he uncurled his stiff limbs and stretched, knocking a blanket to the ground in the process. He rubbed his crusty eyes and realized all at once that he was thirsty as _hell_. He sat up with a groan and was preparing himself to get up and make the arduous journey to the kitchen when he spotted a glass of ice water sitting on the coffee table.

It wasn't on a coaster, so it would probably leave a stain, but Peter could hardly bring himself to care as he reached out to grab the cold, damp glass and take several long gulps of the Best Water Ever. The ice was hardly melted. Peter glanced around instinctually, scanning his small apartment for Wade, because something in him expected the man's presence as automatically as he expected to see his bed every time he went into his bedroom.

But Wade wasn't there.

The ache of disappointment and sadness that Peter felt at that realization was profound. The memories of last night had a strange, fuzzy quality to them, like a dream, but Peter could certainly remember each and every moment. And when he'd fallen asleep, he'd felt so _sure_ , so content in the knowledge that Wade would be his and he would be Wade's. But that wasn't really true, was it? He had been drunk. He had just _assumed_ …

Embarrassment washed over him as he realized exactly how he'd been acting. He'd been all over Wade without even _asking_ what the merc wanted. But after all these years, Peter knew pretty well what Wade wanted. And that made it even worse, didn't it? Because Peter was toying with him. Taking advantage of his feelings just because he was a flirty drunk and got a little carried away.

But really, was that all it was? Peter had been attracted to Wade since the first time they'd met. Yeah, he thought the mercenary was also extremely dangerous and certifiably insane at the time, but he'd changed his mind about that now (the insane part, at least). And when Wade hung around despite Spider-Man's attempts to chase him out of the city and they'd eventually become friends, that attraction hadn't faded. In fact, it had only grown. But Spider-Man was the epitome of self-control. He didn't kill. He didn't do permanent damage. And he didn't make moves on the unpredictable anti-hero who was trying to turn over a new leaf and follow in Spider-Man's footsteps.

It went against the Spider Code.

So he'd held off. And after a while, it just became an impossibility in his mind. Wade was his friend. His partner in crime-fighting. Trying to change what they had going, especially after it had taken Peter so long to let Wade into his Real Life, was a risk he hadn't thought he was willing to take. And besides, Deadpool definitely wasn't stable relationship material.

But Wade might be.

Confused by his change in feelings, and a little overwhelmed by the heavy implications of what he was maybe possibly considering as an option, Peter sighed and dragged himself off the couch to go see if there was an old fortune cookie in the cabinet that he could eat. At least he didn't have a headache or feel particularly nauseous (that was probably just anxiety over his blatant overtures last night), so it looked like he didn't get hangovers even if he could get trashed.

He was brought up short at the kitchen table, where a plate full of pancakes was sitting beside a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Canadian maple syrup. He must have been too distracted to smell them, which was surprising since they were still warm. Peter grinned in spite of himself and sat down to immediately shovel the delicious breakfast into his mouth. When he finished eating and found his fridge and cabinets stocked with a full array of groceries (including jet puffed marshmallows and five different kinds of sausage, all Canadian), Peter found himself thinking that maybe Wade was actually _perfect_ relationship material after all.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Peter was nervous when he went out for patrol late that night. He and Wade usually met up around this time, and his stomach leapt uncomfortable at the thought of seeing the mercenary after last night. The only thing worse would be _not_ seeing him, because if Wade disappeared like he used to do periodically, Peter would feel fucking awful since it was obviously his fault.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Wade all day. He still hadn't decided if he wanted to go for it after all this time, but he _felt_ like he wanted to, and Wade was always trying to get him to acknowledge and act on his feelings more. The last thing he wanted to do, though, was lead Wade on if he was only going to change his mind later.

This was too important to mess up.

So when he landed on their usual rooftop in Midtown and still hadn't made up his mind, his stomach was churning with nerves. Wade was already there, and Peter found himself holding his breath as the mercenary turned to greet him. Would he want to talk about last night? Would he want to pretend that it had never happened? That thought sent an unexpected pang of loss jolting through Peter's body.

In the end, he needn't have worried. Wade started rambling about hedgehogs as soon as he was within speaking distance and didn't stop talking until they were chasing after a pair of gas station-robbers and he'd gotten all the way around to naming all the different cars he'd ever owned. In other words, it was a totally normal night.

Maybe Wade thought that Peter didn't even remember. He had certainly been drunk enough that it wouldn't be a wild assumption to make. In the end, Peter decided to let it go for now. He wasn't ready to make any decisions, so it wouldn't hurt to put off the conversation until he was sure about what he wanted.

Wade didn't mention anything at all about That Night (as Peter had started calling it in his head) when they met up for patrol a day later, either. The only indication he gave that _he_ even remembered it were the strange questions he started asking. Like 'how often would you use a bone saw if you had one?' And 'what size dildo would you prefer?'

Peter had a terrible suspicion that Wade was trying to figure out what he could get Peter as a Christmas present. He did his best to impress upon Wade that he did _not_ need or want any weaponry, tools for dubious uses, sex toys, or animals. (He'd almost fallen off a roof when Wade asked him what he would feed a baby tiger if he had one.)

The night after that, everything was back to normal again. And the night after that. And the night after that.

As time passed, Peter found himself disappointed that Wade hadn't brought up That Night, if only to ask Peter once and for all if he had meant what he'd said. He was starting to think that maybe Wade was pretending it never happened because he didn't _want_ it to happen. Maybe all those years of flirting and sexual innuendos and spontaneous and hugely inappropriate declarations of love had all just been for fun. A joke.

A terrible, heart-breaking joke.

Because Peter's attraction to Wade was growing, too. He found that he was having trouble keeping his hands off the mercenary, making excuses to push him around or carry him somewhere via webs. He couldn't help sitting closer when they ate takeout, on the roof _or_ on the couch, pressing his side against Wade's, shoulder to thigh.

Wade didn't seem to notice, which just made his yearning (and his dejection) even worse.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

On Christmas Eve, Peter was roused from a brief nap on the couch by an insistent knocking coming from his bedroom window. He was a little confused, because Wade had stopped knocking almost a year ago, but he knew it couldn't be anyone else. He dragged himself off the couch, in nothing but pajama pants and a t-shirt, and padded barefoot towards the source of the noise. Sure enough, when he entered his bedroom he could see the tall mercenary crouched precariously outside the closed window holding onto the sill with just his fingertips and clutching something under his other arm. How he knocked, Peter had no idea.

He hurried to slide the window open, frowning as a gust of cold winter air swept into the apartment. "What the fuck are you doing, Wade? Just come in."

Wade didn't grant him with a response, leaping right over the bed and landing on the bedroom floor with a coordinated roll, keeping whatever he was holding tucked safely under one arm. "It's Christmas Eve!" He shouted, jumping to his feet and dashing into the living room without pausing to give Peter a chance to figure out what the _fuck_ was going on.

Peter followed him out of the bedroom at a much more relaxed pace, running a hand through his tangled hair and stifling a delayed yawn as he struggled to wake up fully. They hadn't made plans to meet up tonight, had they? Peter was pretty sure they hadn't. Not that he wasn't happy to see Wade, because he was. He didn't have plans until going over to Aunt May's in the morning, so all he'd had to look forward to this evening was pigging out on Chinese take-out and binge watching Stranger Things (because he still hadn't started season 2 goddamnit).

He found Wade standing beside the Christmas tree, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. He had removed his mask and tucked it away somewhere (as he did every time they were alone in one of their apartments ever since that one time almost a year ago that Peter had told Wade he liked seeing his eyes), and was holding that-thing-he-had out in front of him like he was offering it up to Peter. "Uh… Whatcha doin'?" He asked, approaching slowly.

"It's _Christmas Eve_." Wade repeated, as if that explained everything. Peter looked more closely at that-thing-he-had, figuring if he knew what it was, things would become clear. It was lumpy, but vaguely box-shaped, and seemed to be made out of paper. The paper was a strangle hodge-podge of different patterns, red and green and white and blue, and seemed to be printed with winter-themed things like snowflakes and reindeer and Santa.

 _Wrapping_ paper, Peter realized. Oh. It was a present. A present that looked like it was wrapped by a five-year-old. Assumedly, a present for Peter. He raised his gaze to meet Wade's excited blue eyes, a deep and touching affection squeezing his heart in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"You said we had to wait until Christmas Eve to do presents." He reminded Peter, sounding almost shy even though the enthusiasm was obvious in his voice.

Peter smiled, feeling warm all over. "Yeah. I did." He agreed. It made him happier than he thought it would to hear Wade verbally reference That Night, even if they weren't talking about it directly. "You want some hot cocoa or something? I promise I won't spill this time." He smirked slyly, pushing the acknowledgement a bit further as he turned towards the kitchen.

"No!" Wade protested, lunging forward to push the gift into Peter's unsuspecting arms. "You have to open this _right now_!"

Peter laughed at his child-like single-minded excitement, but happily took the gift from Wade. It was heavier than he expected. "Can I at least take a second to sit down?" He asked wryly, stepping over to drop onto the couch with the present in his lap. Wade sat down heavily beside him, jostling the entire couch and immediately beginning to bounce in his seat, clearly unable to hold still for more than a second at a time.

Knowing that Wade wouldn't calm down until he got what he wanted, Peter started open his present with an amused half-smile. The wrapping was a hot mess, and after a minute of trying to tear along the edges, Peter gave up and just ripped into it. "Wow!" He exclaimed as he tossed the ruined paper aside. "You got me an Amazon box! Just what I always wanted!"

"Cut it out, Mr. Snarky." Wade elbowed him impatiently. "Just open the damn thing before I explode!"

Peter laughed, using some super strength to break through the truly excessive amount of duct tape wrapped around the box. He lifted the flaps, and froze, a quiet gasp breaking through his parted lips.

Inside was a box for the Hasselblad H5D-200MS medium format DSLR camera. The Hasselblad H5D-200MS medium format DSLR camera was the most expensive camera on the market. It cost forty-four thousand dollars. "Wade." Peter whispered. "Tell me this is only a box. Like a joke box."

"No!" Wade surged forward, gleefully seizing the box from Peter's numb hands and pulling out the camera. He lifted the flap and tilted it to show Peter what was in inside. The real. Fucking. Camera. It was sleek and black and _beautiful_ , nestled beside one of the brand's nicest lenses. "See? It's your camera! It's the one you wanted, right? Because I hacked your browser history and you've visited that webpage like sixty-nine times. So unless you're into tech porn, which I wouldn't be _totally_ surprised about but it seems pretty far out there for you, you must really _really_ want this model!"

"Wade." Peter reached out, his fingertips hovering an inch away from the gorgeous camera before he pulled back again. "That's a Hasselblad H5D-200MS medium format DSLR."

"I know!" Wade paused, looking at him closely. Then, much more quietly, "Did I do okay?"

Peter tore his gaze away from the camera of his fucking _dreams_ long enough to look up into Wade's hopeful, vulnerable eyes. "Yes!" He looked back down at the camera. "I mean no." He looked back at Wade. "I mean… It's absolutely perfect, but it's too expensive. Way too expensive." Way _way_ too expensive. Like, twice as much as Peter made in a whole year expensive.

Wade looked at him carefully, and the concern in his eyes cleared away. "Oh. Okay." He lifted the box away from Peter, who had to stifle a whimper of pain as he lost sight of that beautiful thing that he most certainly could not keep. "Well, if you don't want it then I guess I'll just throw it out." He made as if to toss the camera carelessly across the room towards the trashcan in the corner, and Peter was one-hundred percent sure he had a real-life heart attack.

"No!" He lunged forward, sprawling himself across Wade's lap so he could catch the box before it was cast aside. "Are you fucking insane?" He glared up at Wade, shrinking back to clutch the camera to his chest where it would be safe from the mad man's absolute insanity.

Wade raised a hairless eyebrow at him, his mouth twitching with the suppression of what Peter knew was a smug grin. "Oh, so you do want it?"

"No." Peter growled. "I want you to return it."

"No can do, little spider." Wade shook his head. "Final sale. And I have no use for it myself, so if you don't want it then I'll just have to toss it." He leveled Peter with a challenging stare. "You know I will."

He did. Peter knew from first-hand experience that Wade did _not_ bluff about these things. So with a fearsome glare and a huff of indignation, Peter accepted the camera he'd only ever dreamed about seeing in real life, let alone using it, or _owning_ it. He held it carefully in his lap and stared down at the details on the box, all the specifications he'd long since memorized from drooling over the product's webpage.

Wade seemed quite pleased with himself, if his gleeful smile was anything to go by. "Okay, okay, now my turn!" He literally clapped his hands together in excitement, and then he was darting towards the Christmas tree to pick up… His… Present.

Peter's stomach sank. Now that he knew what Wade had gotten him, he knew that his gift was absolute shit in comparison. Worse than shit. Wade would take one look at it and think that Peter didn't value their friendship in the least. He watched as Wade picked up the small package with care and carried it back to the couch, eyes all aglow as he gazed at it. And fuck, he was going to be so disappointed.

"Actually…" Peter set his camera aside ( _carefully_ ), and reached out to slide the present out of Wade's hands. "You can't open it yet. This, um… This isn't your gift."

Wade looked like Peter had just killed his puppy. "What?" And fuck. _Fuck_ , his eyes were filling with _actual_ tears and Peter felt like the worst friend in the whole fucking world.

"No!" He protested. "I'll get you another one, I promise. It's just this one… I need to replace it."

"But…" Now he was picking pitifully at the seam in his suit's pant leg, glancing forlornly between the present Peter held and his empty lap, looking for all the world like a child who was trying their hardest not to cry. "It's just… I was looking forward to opening it all week." His voice wavered.

Well, _fuck_. For Wade, that was like he'd been obsessing over it all year. Just like a kid waiting for Christmas, only to be told it was cancelled. Peter couldn't do that to him.

"Here." He gave in, quickly shoving the square-shaped gift back into Wade's hands. "Of course you can open it. Just… I'm gonna get you something else too, okay? 'Cause it's not the best present."

Wade brightened immediately, like flipping a switch. Peter watched in nervous silence as he tore off the snowman wrapping paper with a grin, revealing the Golden Girls adult coloring book inside. He glanced up to gauge Wade's reaction, only to find him frozen, staring at the cover with wide eyes.

"It's nothing." Peter hurried to say, fiddling anxiously with the hem of his t-shirt. "I know it's… I just, um, picked it up when I saw it at the store, 'cause I thought you might like it, but I'll take it back. I can just… I'll get you something better." Wade was still staring in silence, and that was really starting to freak Peter out. "I'm sorry" He reached for the book. "I can take it back."

"No!" Wade unfroze with a start, snatching the coloring book out of Peter's reach. And then before he quite knew what was happening, two strong arms were being thrown over his shoulders and Wade was burying his head in Peter's neck.

"You really _do_ know me." He gushed, voice hitching a little on the words. Peter let out a breathy laugh, caught off guard by Wade's reaction, and slid his arms around Wade's waist to hold him close. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever gotten me." He whispered, lips brushing against the skin on Peter's collar and sending tingles down his spine (the good kind, not the spidey kind). "It's perfect."

Peter grinned, dipping his chin to plant a gentle kiss on the top of Wade's head. "I'm glad you like it." He murmured, made bold by the warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest. If this was how Wade reacted to a simple gift, then Peter was going to start giving him things _all_ the time. Not expensive things, of course, because some people didn't have thousands of dollars to drop on gifts, believe it or not. But he was definitely going to look for little things that he thought Wade might like. Hell, he'd shower Wade in hundreds of adult coloring books if it made him this happy.

Wade hummed happily, staying still in Peter's arms for almost a full minute before squeezing him gently and pulling back to start flipping through the coloring book. Each page seemed to excite him more than the last. Peter watched him for a while, unable to wipe the smile off his face, before he decided he better start getting ready for tomorrow.

"I have to make cookies to take over to my aunt's tomorrow." He told Wade as he got to his feet, carefully moving the camera box off the couch and onto the coffee table where it would be more secure. Technically, he was just in charge of desserts and could make any type he wanted, but he'd chosen cookies because they were the easiest.

"Oh, cool!" Wade looked up in interest, carefully closing the book after dog-earing a page (presumably the one he wanted to color first). "I love baking. Could I help?"

Peter blinked at him in surprise. Because Deadpool? Baking? "Sure." He shrugged, accepting it without question, because he'd long-since learned not to have expectations when it came to Wade. He walked to the kitchen and Wade trailed after him, setting the coloring book beside Peter's camera like it was just as valuable. To him, maybe it was.

Peter went to get cookie sheets out of the cabinet and Wade headed for the fridge.

"Um… Peter?" Wade sounded concerned.

"Yeah?" He turned to see Wade standing in front of the open fridge, holding Peter's yellow package of Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies between his finger and thumb, as if it were something disgusting, like it had gone bad. But Peter had just bought those yesterday.

"What. The fuck." He shook the package at Peter, his voice low and his glare deadly serious. "Is this."

"Uh…" Peter stared, uncomprehending. "The… Cookie dough?"

"PRE-MADE?" Wade's sudden shout made Peter jump. "Oh my Jesus fucking christ it's a fucking travesty." He shook his head in bitter disappointment, and Peter felt his stomach sinking in spite of himself. "Baby Boy." Wade crossed to the trash can and dropped the ready-bake cookies in with a muffled thump. "We _never_ use pre-made. Got it?"

Peter nodded weakly, even though he didn't really. "Um, yeah. Sorry."

"It's okay. Here's what we're gonna do." Wade pulled his mask out of a pouch on his belt and started shaking it out, clearly intending to put it back on. "I'm gonna go get everything we need to make _real_ cookies, and you're gonna get stuff ready while I'm gone. You can preheat the oven to three-fifty, and get out all the mixing bowls and measuring cups you've got, okay?"

Peter nodded again, feeling a little overwhelmed by Wade's commanding tone, how he'd taken charge so suddenly and completely.

He kind of liked it.

"Be back before you can sing all five verses of Baby Got Back!" And with that, he was ducking out the door and gone before Peter could blink.

Peter shook his head with a bemused smile, surprised but not unpleased with the way Wade had commandeered the whole cookie situation, and set about getting everything out and setting the oven to preheat.

When Wade finally returned more than half an hour later, Peter was seated back on the couch, examining his camera box again (though he hadn't worked up the courage to actually open it or take the thing out). He looked up as the door banged open, revealing Wade carrying in several heavy bags of things. It certainly looked like far more than would be needed to bake cookies, but Peter kept his mouth shut because this was amusing and he liked it when Wade got excited about things other than guns and killing and knives and blood and flame throwers and any other kind of weapon ever.

"Alrighty now, Peter. Here begineth your first lesson in the ancient craft of baking." Peter padded into the kitchen to watch Wade empty the bags onto the table, pulling out everything they could possibly need from brown sugar to eggs, and several things they definitely _didn't_ need like eggnog and candy canes. "Always buy fresh, organic ingredients."

"Uh, Wade?" Peter picked up a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips. "I don't think any of this is fresh. Except maybe the eggs. And literally none of it is labeled organic."

Wade heaved an exasperated sigh as he pulled a large bowl towards him and started measuring out flour with Peter's only measuring cup. "Fine, then. Scratch that. Just buy ingredients."

"Got it."

Wade proceeded to guide him through the procedure for making not one batch of cookies, but four. Most of his baking 'rules' were bullshit, but Peter had to admit that he really did seem to know what he was doing. Most of the time he just watched, leaning against the counter and admiring the sight of Wade's arms flexing while he mixed the brown sugar and butter, or the flour and milk and eggs, or the sugar and flour and vanilla extract. There was just a lot of mixing overall, and Peter was very grateful for that. Occasionally he would hand Wade things, or measure out an ingredient or two, but he let the mercenary do most of the heavy lifting.

And while he was watching Wade scoop perfectly round table-spoon sized balls of cookie dough onto one of the baking sheets, he realized something. Wade was wearing an apron over his Deadpool suit (which he must have bought at the store, because Peter didn't own an apron), his mask was nowhere to be seen, he was humming something holiday-themed under his breath, and Peter wasn't just attracted to him. He was, without a doubt, at least a little bit in love with him, too.

Maybe the realization should have scared him, because if he was being honest, _Wade_ still scared him a little bit sometimes, but it didn't. Mostly it just made him feel warm and content, because hanging out with Wade, baking fucking _cookies_ in his shitty little apartment, was the happiest he'd been in a long time. Wade made him happy. And Wade deserved to have someone love him. And so Peter did.

When all was said and done, Wade had made oatmeal butterscotch cookies, peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, snickerdoodle cookies (for which he had bought icing and sprinkles to decorate with later), and caramel walnut chocolate chunk cookies. Peter was absolutely certain that Aunt May would not believe he had made them, but he didn't even mind. Maybe it would be the perfect opportunity to tell her about Wade.

He was watching Wade bend over to put the cookies in the oven when it finally happened. He was singing 'jingle bells, Batman smells' under his breath and Peter couldn't help himself anymore. When Wade stood up, closing the oven door, he stepped into the man's space and curled his fingers around two leather katana straps. He stood on his tip toes, eyelids fluttering as he met Wade's surprised gaze, and pressed their lips firmly together.

Wade was unresponsive at first, but when Peter tugged on his straps and nudged Wade's mouth open with his own, he unfroze with a small gasp. Then Wade's hands were on his waist and they were _kissing_. And it was gentle and warm and wet and Wade tasted like eggnog, sweet with just a hint of cinnamon. And it was perfect.

Peter finally slowed down when he felt himself getting a little too excited, skimming his lips lightly over Wade's jaw before he pulled away completely, keeping it tame for now. But he could feel it… The hints of so much _more_ this could be if he only let it keep going. Maybe later. He let his eyes drift open to meet Wade's, and he noticed immediately how blown the mercenary's pupils were.

Definitely later.

"What…?" Wade trailed off uncertainly, his fingers gripping reflexively at Peter's waist, like he wanted to keep him there but wasn't sure if he was allowed to. Peter smoothed his hands down Wade's chest and offered him a sugary sweet smile.

"This was your first lesson in the ancient craft of boyfriend-ing." He watched Wade's eyes go wide, and his smile grew wider, too. He leaned up to press his lips to Wade's textured jaw once again and murmured into his skin, "I meant it. Everything I said That Night when I got drunk." He trailed up to nip lightly at Wade's bottom lip, earning a small, short whimper in return. "I want you, Wade Wilson. If you'll have me."

Wade's only answer was to catch Peter up in his arms and kiss him breathless, sliding their tongues together in a hot, slick rhythm until Peter's head was positively spinning.

"Is that a yes?" Peter gasped when Wade finally released his lips.

"Yes." Wade vowed, voice rough as he pressed more kisses down Peter's neck, bringing a heated flush to the delicate skin. "Fuck yes."

Peter smiled.


End file.
